Destroying to Create: Embracing the Art of Letting Go

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.”

– Ernest Hemingway in A Farewell to Arms

My former work as a potter and ceramics instructor taught me many things I carry into my work as a therapist I might never have understood, if it were not for those fortuitous days of warped pots and determination at the mercy of a powerful force of creation and chaos. 

In both pottery and therapy, there comes a moment when you have to let go of something you want to keep. Maybe it is a belief about yourself, a way of thinking, or even a relationship. Letting go can feel like failure, like losing something important. But real change—whether with clay or in life—comes when we accept that loss is part of the process.

This is common with new pottery students. If a pot quickly collapses on the wheel, they reluctantly cut it off and start over. But when they make something off-centered—something they think might turn out okay, despite its foreboding wobble—letting go is much harder. They want to fix it, save it, justify it—even if it is already showing the warning signs of a doomed fate.

Therapy has a familiar dynamic. We hold onto old habits and ways of thinking because they feel safe. Even if they cause us pain, at least they are familiar. New ideas still based on old habits and beliefs are often doomed to fail. The idea of change can feel scary, like stepping into the unknown. But just like in pottery, sometimes we have to break or cut off what isn’t working to make room for something stronger.

When I first started working with clay, it was hard losing pieces. An off-center or cracked pot felt like a failure. But over time, I learned that destroying is just part of creating. Potters trim, reshape, and sometimes even smash pieces that don’t cut it. And after a while, it stops feeling like loss. It starts feeling like freedom.

The same shift can happen in therapy. At first, letting go of old patterns hurts. It feels like you’re losing a part of yourself. But as you move along, you realize that breaking old habits makes you stronger—just like Hemingway’s words. The world breaks everyone, but everyone gets to decide what to do with their brokenness. Many come back stronger in those broken places. But only if they do something with it. “Time,” alone, rarely “heals all wounds.”

I watched many students go through this shift. At first, they hesitated to destroy their new work. They tried to keep it at all costs. They justified its maladaptive existence and necessity even in the face of knowing it will most likely fail, crack, or explode. They worked so hard just to get this far, so it makes good sense to try and keep it. But as they moved through it, they started to trust the process. They realized that every too-thin or too-thick pot was teaching them something valuable; let it go and try it again. Create, and learn the boundaries and limits of the clay. I watched them start to enjoy creating—and even destroying—because they began to understand it was all part of their progress of getting stronger, capable, more complete. 

Therapy is much the same. It can be a long and arduous path, filled with hope, yet ambushed by fear and doubt. Failed attempts and vulnerability hangovers are a part of the process. When it feels hopeless, that pain is real and the hurt it brings you. But I also believe in what is possible [for you]. What lies on the other side of fear and doubt. 

I’ve watched therapy take people further and deeper, past the fear of letting go. Until, at last, they release—not because they’ve been forced to, not because they’ve been holding on for dear life, but because they want to. And when that moment comes, it’s not just about letting go—it’s making space for something new, something stronger, something that finally feels like freedom.

Ciao for now,

David Byers, AMFT 147942